


Satisfied

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bruises, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5922898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Victory is satisfying on all levels, on the comfortable top layers and the dark, secret ones, vicious delight and acceptable joy mingling together into a symphony as sweet to taste as the rhythm of his favorite music is to listen to. And then there’s Akiteru." Kei likes winning for an infinity of reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kamyams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamyams/gifts).



Kei appreciates winning.

He never counts on it. It’s not his style to assume something before he has it in his hands; he’s learned better by now, been taught time and again not to trust anything unless he sees it for himself, feels it for himself, has it recorded in the mental tracks of his own experience. He approaches every volleyball game expecting failure, anticipating nothing, barely acknowledging the existence of life after the game. But with each match that passes Karasuno does better and climbs higher in the tournament bracket, until even when Kei comes home with his fingers aching and taped tight against rising bruises he carries the weight of pride with him, a slow, spreading thing that invades his arteries and spreads into his veins until he feels like he’s glowing with reflected light.

That’s not the only advantage, of course. There’s the satisfaction of victory, the tang and bite of pleasure for the competitiveness in which Kei rarely indulges but that gets sharper and clearer in him with each passing day. There’s the strange sense of being part of the team, like he’s an integral part of the group instead of a tall figure set to stand at the edge of the net more as a threat than a promise. There’s the bitter joy of gaining the upper hand on their opponents, of predicting better or faster than the team on the other side of the net can manage, of seeing calculating expressions fall slack with shock at Kei’s own greater cunning. It’s satisfying on all levels, on the comfortable top layers and the dark, secret ones too, vicious delight and acceptable joy mingling together into a symphony as sweet to taste as the rhythm of his favorite music is to listen to.

And then there’s Akiteru.

Kei remembers when it started, the first match he won after Akiteru came back to visit, when he spent the whole of the game flushed hot with the awareness of his brother watching him from the stands, when he could pick out the enthusiasm of Akiteru’s shouts with every surge of sound that met a particularly clever block or a noteworthy receive. Kei had been jittery all under his skin, as if he was burning with electricity in anticipation of something unstated and uncertain, and there was no reason for it and no reason to expect anything but when he came in the front door that evening Akiteru had been waiting for him, had pinned him up against the door and crushed his mouth to Kei’s and all the tension had sagged out of Kei’s body like a dam giving way to a flood, like that one point of contact was enough to drain off the tension building over the days and weeks and months since Akiteru left. “Stay awake for me,” Akiteru had said, hissing hard against Kei’s mouth with the same rough friction his callused fingers made at Kei’s shoulders, and then he was gone, drawing back to laughing congratulations spaced to fit within the boundaries of ordinary sibling relationships and not the hot grind of want that had flushed Kei hotter than he had been all game. It was that evening that Akiteru gave Kei the secondary satisfaction of victory, had fit congratulations to Kei’s body with the press of his lips and the drag of his fingers, and it was that night Kei had lain awake with his body warm under the sheets and his eyes wide and staring at his bedroom wall and had sworn with silent determination to win every game he played from then on.

And this, now, is the payoff: Akiteru’s hands on him, Akiteru’s skin on his, Kei’s shorts abandoned somewhere on the floor in favor of fingers bracing at his hips and lips kissing against the tremor of heat along his stomach.

“You’re moving too much,” Akiteru tells him, though it’s more gentle than it is biting, amusement rather than protest. “Are you ticklish, Kei?”

“Be quiet,” Kei tells him, managing to unwind a hand from the sheets under him to reach for Akiteru’s hair instead. Akiteru just laughs, sounding entertained more than intimidated, but he moves before Kei touches him, ducking his head to catch his lips against the head of Kei’s cock before Kei can even push him in the right direction. The friction is always more than Kei expects, a startling rush of sensation up his spine; this time it makes him gasp, makes his breathing stick in his throat until his exhale twists itself into a whimper instead of the resigned huff he intended, and his hips come up too, bucking into Akiteru’s mouth with a desperation than flushes him hot with embarrassment even before the other purrs a low note of amusement around him and tightens his hold on Kei’s hips to pin him down to the bed. Kei’s not sure it would be enough on its own -- Akiteru’s shoulders are more solid than he remembers, but Kei’s been training too, has a strength in his legs he didn’t used to -- but his knees are spread wide to make space for Akiteru between them, and his socks skid on the bedsheets when he tries to catch traction against the blankets, and in the end any attempts he might make at arching up for more are entirely undone by the weight of Akiteru’s hold forcing him down to the bed.

Akiteru is good at this, so good Kei flinches away from thinking of it too much, cringes back from the obvious question of how he became so skilled and with whom he must have practiced. It’s not like it matters, he tells himself, not like it really makes a difference; he’s Akiteru’s brother, after all, the only one he’s ever had, and that counts for intimacy enough even were Akiteru not in the middle of sucking Kei’s dick like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Even with Kei’s nonexistent experience he knows Akiteru is good; he’s steady in his motion, certain in his hold, and even when he hesitates it’s only to tighten his lips against the head of Kei’s cock, to suck a burst of pressure or to slide his tongue against sensitive skin so Kei’s hips jerk in the reflexive rush of heat that comes with the contact. Kei can feel his mouth coming open, can feel the moan that sticks in his back of his throat unvoiced; it’s a monumental effort of will to press his lips together, to swallow back the sound and let the heat of it vibrate against the inside of his ribcage instead of breaking free into the giveaway of audibility. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference; Akiteru pulls back anyway, looks up at Kei with his mouth quirking into a grin that lights starlight in his eyes and echoes the memory of laughter into Kei’s ears even though Akiteru is only speaking, now, his words underlined with the tremor of delight visible in his smile.

“Are you okay, Kei?” His thumb presses at Kei’s hip, strokes an inch of contact against the thin skin taut over bone; Kei jerks with the friction, his back arching him off the bed, and Akiteru laughs, the sound warm and so low Kei can feel it fall against him as if it has physical weight. “You did good today. I’m so proud of you.”

“I don’t care,” Kei lies, looking away from Akiteru’s smile and up at the ceiling so he can strain for something that almost passes as sincerity in his voice. “It doesn’t matter, I just played a game.”

“You played well,” Akiteru tells him, punctuating with a press of his tongue to Kei’s cock, with a slow curl of friction that does wrench a moan from Kei’s chest this time, that leaves him trembling and shaky against the sheets as pleasure uncoils from his stomach and out into the tingling tips of his fingers pressed into the soft of Akiteru’s hair. “You’re becoming an amazing player, Kei.”

“Don’t be embarrassing,” Kei tells him, but Akiteru licks against him again in the middle of his sentence, and the heat of the pressure surges up his throat and cracks his voice into pieces. “I just--I’m just playing because I’m on the team.”

“You’re not,” Akiteru tells him. “You’re _good_. You’re really good, Kei.” And then he’s lowering his head again, taking Kei back into his mouth before the other can put words to further protest. The heat surges up Kei’s spine, sweeping aside coherency and resistance alike; he’s left trembling over the bed as friction unfolds through him, left clinging to Akiteru’s hair as the drag of his brother’s mouth draws pleasure up from the base of his spine to spread wide all through the line of his shoulders and the tension in his wrists. Kei’s fingers ache when he tenses them, the impact of blocked spikes during the game bruised against his fingertips and in the angle of his knuckles, but he makes fists in Akiteru’s hair anyway, winds his fingers into the strands to hold himself to reality as Akiteru hums against him and lets Kei’s cock slide farther back in his mouth. Everything is blurring into heat, from the press of Akiteru’s lips to the whirl of Kei’s thoughts, until he can’t think to catch back the moan that unwinds from his throat as the heat of Akiteru’s mouth surrounds him, as the friction of suction tenses against him. There’s the thought of victory in the back of his head, the satisfaction of winning enough to override the ache of exertion trembling through his muscles, but even that is fading, the details of coherency melting to the pull of Akiteru’s movement over him. It’s better than words, better than praise; there’s an immediacy to this, a surge of heat running through Kei’s body with each motion Akiteru takes, as if he’s pressing encouragement into his blood directly, feeding the satisfaction of victory seamlessly into the pleasure of desire.

Kei can feel his spine arching, can see his vision going blurry as his glasses haze into heat, but he doesn’t lift a hand to push them off; he’s holding too tightly to Akiteru’s hair to let his grip go, is too thrummingly close to distract himself even for clear vision. There are words in his throat, the weight of a plea or of a confession tangling at the back of his tongue, and then Kei manages an inhale and Akiteru’s lips tighten around him and the words slide free, pouring into a gasp of “ _Nii-chan_ ” that runs through his entire body like a bolt of electricity. Kei’s legs tense, Akiteru’s grip tightens at his hips -- and Akiteru groans, a muffled hum of sound that Kei can feel better than he can hear, and Kei’s eyes go wide as he chokes on the surge of heat that rushes over him. His thighs are shaking, his body trembling under the force of his orgasm, and he’s moaning something breathless and hot but it’s Akiteru he can feel more clearly than his own words, Akiteru’s purr of satisfaction against him a sharp point of clarity amidst the haze of pleasure that is rushing over him like the tide. Kei gasps air, and shakes with sensation, and Akiteru’s there to steady him, Akiteru’s hold against his hips unwavering to pin him to the bed until even the aftershocks have given way to slack-limbed warmth over the sheets.

Kei is still staring at the ceiling when Akiteru pulls away, blinking at the details of the surface that seem very mundane and very soothing just at the moment. It’s not until Akiteru comes up over the bed to lean over him that he brings himself back to focus, that he draws his attention down to the lopsided smile clinging to Akiteru’s mouth and the soft affection melting in his eyes.

“Hey,” Akiteru says, so softly Kei can barely hear him, like the greeting is more a secret than anything that has come before. “You okay?”

Kei unwinds his aching fingers from Akiteru’s hair, reaches up to touch the frames of his glasses, to make sure they’re settled straight against the bridge of his nose and over the tops of his ears. It’s only when he’s sure there’s nothing more than heat blurring his vision that he nods, deliberate and careful in the agreement he gives. “Yes.”

Akiteru’s smile draws wider. “You always look so serious,” he says, but it’s an observation more than teasing, and he’s leaning in closer before Kei has a chance to even decide if he wants to frame a response to that. “You can smile sometimes, you know.”

“I smile,” Kei protests, but Akiteru is kissing him before he has the words out, interrupting his speech with the gentle weight of his lips on Kei’s. Kei’s eyes shut of their own accord, his fingers fluttering back up to land in Akiteru’s hair; his focus is scattering, his attention wandering away into the daze of heat, until by the time Akiteru pulls back Kei can’t remember what he was thinking about at all.

Akiteru’s grin is bright enough to sparkle in his eyes. “Like that,” he says, purring satisfaction at the back of his throat. “Congratulations on your win, Kei.”

It’s not until Akiteru’s mouth presses against his that Kei realizes his lips are curved soft on sincerity.


End file.
